


Orchestration

by Konfessor2U



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anilingus, BDSM, Boys Kissing, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Collars, Come Eating, Come play, Creampie, Dear God my mind is filthy, Deepthroating, Developing Relationship, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gregcentric, Handcuffs, Here there be porn, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, M/M, New submissive, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Punishment, Red Pants, Rimming, Sentimental, Sentimental Sherlock, Shameless Smut, Sleepy Cuddles, Spanking, Spitroasting, Sub John, Sub Lestrade, Threesome - M/M/M, Trust, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Konfessor2U/pseuds/Konfessor2U
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John run into someone they know at the BDSM club. What happens now their secret is out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Club

John continued crawling on his knees, yielding to the tug of the leash clipped on his leather collar. When Sherlock came to a stop, they were just at the end of the bar and he settled back on his heels, his hands neatly folded in his lap.

"Never thought I would see you here." Sherlock said to someone at the bar. John knew better than to look up to see who he was speaking to, it was most likely an old friend, another Dom from his "training days". It made his pulse quicken to think that Sherlock might give him away to another Dom for the night. He preferred Sherlock over anyone else, but he trusted him to not choose a stranger and from time to time enjoyed being used by another. John simply waited patiently, closing his eyes and searching for his obedient headspace.

"Christ, Sherlock! I—um, shit, yeah. Uh...same to you. Is that—is that John?" The man bent down to look John in the face.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew who it was. That voice was one that he heard every day. His guess was confirmed when he opened his eyes to see Greg Lestrade peering down at him in wonder. Immediately, John's whole body was flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure, the kind of which he thrived on. Being subservient here in the club where they would most likely not see anyone they knew was one thing. Being on display for Lestrade, who knew them and respected John for his work, in nothing but his black pants and leather collar was arousing yet disconcerting.

John cast his eyes down to the floor, trying to mentally fight the erection struggling to escape his tight black briefs.  _I wonder if he is a Dom or a sub._ John figured that he would be one or the other as people didn't come to this club just to watch. It was frowned upon.  _What if he was a Dom?_  This last thought effectively caused John to lose the battle to his growing cock, a wet spot forming on the front of the fabric for all to see.

He felt Sherlock's slim fingers brush through his short hair as he continued to talk with the detective inspector. "What are you doing here, Lestrade?" Sherlock was speaking deeper than usual, using his voice to manipulate, as always. The tone was different from his everyday voice, it was his "Dom voice".

"I, uh… I was just havin' a drink. Is that a crime?" John smirked knowing that by the sound of it and what he could see in his peripheral vision, that Lestrade was avoiding looking directly at Sherlock. Lestrade made a point to turn away and knock back the last of his beer as proof to why he was there.

"Look at me."

The man's head whipped around quickly to look at Sherlock, and John smiled to himself. _Submissive._  Another Dominant wouldn't be reacting this way to him. He couldn't tell if this fact about Lestrade excited him or not.

"Boy." The grip in John's hair tightened and Sherlock tilted his head back so he could look up at the two of them. "Get dressed, we're going home." He quickly obeyed and left the two at the bar.

"I really should be off too." Lestrade tried to slip past Sherlock but was stopped with a firm hand on his chest.

"You'll be coming with us, Lestrade. I can tell you are looking for something to do tonight." Lestrade didn't answer but looked down at Sherlock's hand on his chest. When the silence between them stretched out just long enough, Sherlock spoke again, a whisper in his ear hot and close. "I'll tell you what you are going to do tonight, things you'll have to do to John. If this doesn't suit you then you  _should_  go home now. But if you decide this is something you want, you'll answer me with a 'yes or no, sir' only. Do you understand?"

Greg swallowed thickly as he watched John return to them, completely clothed now and the collar removed. The man looked uncomfortable, shifting himself in his trousers and still avoiding looking at Lestrade.

"Yes, sir."


	2. Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes to 221B Baker Street.

After three "yes, sirs", two minor mental freak outs, one insanely long ride back to 221B Baker Street, and exactly zero glances at either Sherlock or John, Lestrade found himself climbing the steps into the flat.

Without prompting, John put the kettle on and Sherlock ordered the inspector to sit, which he did without hesitation in one of the large armchairs. The silence was making Greg nutty, he just wanted it to start or not start. Waiting was slowly killing him but he didn't say otherwise; he knew that Sherlock could tell regardless. John presented him with a cuppa and he simply grunted.

"What you meant to say was, 'Thank you, John'," Sherlock's stare from his place at the window was intense.

Greg croaked out a "Thank you, John" as he lifted the cup his lips, looking intently at the carpet. The tea was scalding hot but he sipped anyway, desperate for the awkwardness to be over.

Beside him, John began stripping out of his clothing. Greg's peripheral vision didn't allow him much, with Sherlock's eyes on him he didn't want to risk a glance at John even though it took all of his will power to not look. From what he could tell, John was again just in his black pants and the man immediately dropped to his knees, head bowed, waiting. Burying his face in his mug, Greg struggled against the naughty thoughts drifting through his head, thoughts provoked by Sherlock's whispers at the club.

"Your limits?" Sherlock came to stand in front of John and Greg, towering over them both. While waiting for Greg to answer him, Sherlock bent to dig through the bag John had carried home from the bar. Greg cleared his throat finding it difficult to put what he needed into words. He watched Sherlock pull a leather collar from the bag and fasten it tightly around John's neck. Longingly, he watched as Sherlock hands lingered on John's neck a moment longer than necessary.  _That. I need that._  He felt himself nearly panting with want.

His need did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who produced a second leather collar from the bag and stood tall again. "When I ask you a question, I expect an answer from you. Do you understand?" Sherlock's face and posture were stern but his voice a bit playful, thoroughly enjoying this.

"Yes, sir." Greg felt ashamed of already being a disappointment to Sherlock. It was hard to say what he needed; he just wanted to please Sherlock. His head hung heavily as he contemplated the things he wanted. It was by far easier to pick out the things that he didn't want. Not ever being in a solid Dom/sub relationship, he didn't know what sort of things would do it for him, but hard limits, they were easy for him.

"We can start with this. Head up." Greg snapped his head up, baring his neck for Sherlock to tighten the collar on him. Sherlock admired the collar, smiling broadly. "Now, kneel."

Greg moaned out loud at the command before scrambling to his knees next to John, and bringing his arms behind his back to rest.

"I'll ask you one more time, and if you don't answer me properly, then I will decide for you. What are your limits?"

"Uh… Sir, my hard limits are elimination, blood play, maiming and branding, you know, knife play and the lot. No body modifications." Greg could feel the heat creeping up his neck from under his shirt. Saying those words made him feel extremely filthy and he was already half hard in his trousers which only added to his embarrassment.

"Look at me." Sherlock's voice was calm and quiet and Greg's heart nearly melted at the soft look on Sherlock's face as he gazed up at him. "What of your soft limits?" He shivered as his hair was lightly stroked and he unconsciously leaned into the touch, craving more contact.

"I don't know, sir." He nearly sobbed. He just needed to be told. He needed to be filled with nothing but the desire to obey. The need was so great now that tears threatened to fall.

"You'll let me decide what they are?"

"Yes, please, sir. I want you to decide." Greg let his head fall down, staring at the floor. " _Please_."

Greg whined when Sherlock turned his attention back to John, running his hands down the man's neck and across his broad back, idly tracing the outlines of the scar there on his left shoulder. "Boy, have a look at him." Sherlock crouched behind John reaching around him to tease his nipples while whispering in his ear. John looked straight into Greg's big, brown eyes. "Can you see how much he needs this? He is begging already. I can only deduce that it is because of his stressful job, always in charge all the time. I think he wants to let go. What do you think, Boy, should we help him?"

John sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily. He understood Greg's raw, innate need to please. It was exactly how he felt before meeting Sherlock. Lost, with no one to tell him what to do, give him praise, to love him. Sherlock's hands continued to gently teased his nipples and his lips caressed that crazy sensitive spot on the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers up and down his spine. The tingles settled heavily in his cock, drawing out a tiny moan bordering on a whine. It made it hard to think, but luckily he already knew what he wanted.

"Yes, Sherlock." Greg bristled slightly at the fact that John didn't have to say, "Sir", but the feeling passed as he watched both John and Sherlock stare him down hungrily.

Then with a gentle shove in Greg's direction, Sherlock set things in motion. "Go to him, Boy."


	3. Red Silk and Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is laid bare and given his first order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Series 3!!! #Sherlocklives.
> 
> The new Sherlock episode is happening RIGHT NOW!!! I have to wait to watch it because I promised to wait until my husband gets home from work and then we'll stream it on BBC iPlayer. I must really love him because I am dying to see it NOW, absolutely gagging. I have to avoid facebook and tumblr for now... spoilers. If he ever says I don't do nice things for him, I will remind him of the agony I endured today. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter, sorry it took so long.

Sherlock took a seat in his arm chair to watch the scene unfold. He settled back into the cushions and crossed his ankle over his other knee. From this angle, he could see that Greg was shaking, vibrating with anticipation. His John, his pet was as steady as ever, his strong hands slowly and confidently unbuttoning Greg’s shirt. He also observed that their eyes were locked, each carefully watching the other. John whispered something, but Sherlock allowed that figuring he was saying something to calm Greg’s so obviously buzzing nerves.

When it came to the D.I.’s belt, the man sucked in a quick breath and held it as John pulled the belt from the loops of his trousers excruciatingly slow. Sherlock appreciated the bulge in the front of Greg’s trousers and even more so as John unzipped them revealing deep red silk pants stretched tight over a growing erection. He hummed his appreciation at his John and newly found sub together on their knees in front of him, and _damn_ , he was going to have to play his cards right if he wanted this to happen again. He was the Dom but Greg needed to be 100% consenting in order to play with them.

If the murmuring now leaking from Greg’s pretty mouth as John lightly thumbed his nipples was any indication, Greg would certainly be back for more. He allowed John to explore Greg as the images of the permutations of sexual acts between the three of them flitted behind his eyes. His cock stirred supportively. Yes, this was going to be just fantastic. A loud, shuddering breath from Greg shook Sherlock from daydreaming of things the three of them could do together. It was time to get them done.

“Stop that, Boy.” John immediately stilled his hands and stowed them behind his back. Greg bit back a desperate whine, knowing that he should just be thankful for any attention he received from the pair. He copied John and tucked his hands away.

“Gregory.” _Shit._ He knew at that moment that he was well and truly fucked.“Come here.”

He stood obediently and shuffled somewhat shyly to stand in front of Sherlock, who before this night he knew just to be the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock uncrossed his legs and spread his knees to plant his feet more firmly. “Sit,” he said with a wave to his legs.

Greg could feel the burning flush spread from his face down all over his body. He knew that Sherlock meant for him to sit on his lap, that much was obvious. The seconds ticked by and Greg was afraid any more delay and he would be punished. He was unsure of _how_ to sit on his lap. Should he straddle Sherlock like some wanton slut? Or should he sit sideways like a child on his father’s lap?

Given the situation, he settled for placing his legs on either side of Sherlock’s, it was intimate and made him feel like a complete tart, but hey, they were doing this weren't they? He was no small person and sitting atop Sherlock’s legs made him feel even taller, out of place and extremely awkward, but the heat coming from the man below him was distraction enough from feeling too vulnerable.

“That’s a good man.” Sherlock purred, looking up at Greg’s face fondly while effectively raising hairs all over his body with feather light touches to his thighs. The D.I. could almost forget that John was kneeling on the floor behind him but he quickly remembered that it was John’s hands that were on him just a moment ago. When Sherlock’s nimble fingers danced close to the edge of his pants, his breathing quickened, he was nearly in tears from the anticipation of it all but Sherlock wasn’t giving in.

“Listen very carefully, Gregory.” Greg melted all over again. His name spoken with _that_ voice rendered him useless. “I’m going to tell you to do things, things you must do to yourself, John and I. You must trust me completely. Can you do that?” Greg nodded, he was so desperate at this point that Sherlock could tell him to jump from the Tower Bridge and he would probably agree to it.

“John is tough, he can take it and he trusts me ab-so-lute-ly.” Emphasis on each syllable was accompanied by tiny pinches to the delicate skin on the inside of Greg’s thighs.

“So, you’ll do everything I ask. If you want out, just say so, and you can leave.” Greg’s heart sank at the thought of leaving now. He was too invested in the situation and way too turned on to entertain the thought.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do anything you ask.” And he would, forever and always, he decided. His head had never been as clear as it was right now. Greg had needed to be dominated for a very long time and even just giving up this small amount of control, he could feel all the stress from work ebb away until all he knew was Sherlock and John, here in this room.

A slow lazy smile spread across Sherlock’s face, a genuine smile and it excited Greg beyond all imagining.

“Good. That’s very good.”

Sherlock reached over to rummage under a few magazines on the side table. Having found what he was looking for, he dangled a pair of handcuffs from his long, slim pointer finger in front of Greg. Greg knew that they were his, pinched from his belt during a case sometime last week. He knew that Sherlock pick pocketed him when he was bored, but what the genius didn't know was that Greg strategically placed his things in his pockets and on his belt, making it easier for Sherlock to nick them. It was a little game of his own, but Sherlock probably knew that he knew, he always does.

His voice was low and rumbling sending tiny reverberations into Greg who shivered slightly. “You are going to treat John like he is an uncooperative suspect. Cuff him, and please, do be rough with him.”

Greg took his cuffs back from Sherlock with a “Yes, sir".

Sherlock gently pulled Greg’s head down with a finger under the leather collar to kiss him slow and sweet, like a lover. No one had ever kissed Greg _quite_ like that, ever, and it was doing delicious things to his body, he was fully hard in his pants and the silk fabric did little to hide it. He reciprocated, eagerly giving himself over to Sherlock’s soft, warm, wet mouth, which pulled away too soon, leaving him disappointed.

“Off you go, Detective Inspector.” Sherlock said deviously, encouraging Greg to climb off his lap and do as he was told.


	4. The Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg disobeys Sherlock unintentionally, but deserves to be punished never the less.

John, being the good sub that he was, gave up the perfect amount of struggle for Greg before allowing the handcuffs to click shut on his wrists, pulling his arms behind his back. He ended up face down with Greg’s knee laid lightly in between his shoulder blades, chest heaving ragged breaths, his darkened, deep blue eyes boring into Sherlock’s.

Never, _never_ in a million years did Greg think he would get off from handcuffing another person, and a man no less. Well, that much wasn’t a surprise, he’d always considered himself to be bi-sexual but as he got older, he figured that it was because he was unable to admit that he was gay, 100% gay. It was a huge life changer considering he was with his ex-wife for the greater part of two decades and he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

The tiny scrabble on the ground for control over John left him panting, rock hard, and visibly straining against the red silk. It looked as if Sherlock, whose eyes were on John like a predator that has just found dinner, famished and ready to pounce, was also aroused. He didn’t pounce though, as much as he’d like to, and instead sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands neatly folded.

“Detective Inspector, you’ve done well bringing this good-for-nothing under hand.” When Sherlock’s sharp eyes slid to his face, Greg thought that his legs would turn to jelly at seeing the passion in them. Greg was sure that hearing his full title rumble from those thick, plump lips would never get old. It made his spine tingle, a prickling that settled deep in his pelvis, radiating out to his cock. To be honest, he was surprised that Sherlock even knew his real name, being mistaken for Gavin or Graham more often than not.

Greg smiled shyly, feeling proud, having pleased Sherlock. “Thank you, sir.” He was positively gagging to touch himself, just one stroke would do, but knew that as a new submissive, he should be on his best behaviour.

“I know you want to touch yourself,” Sherlock continued with that damn smirk on his face. _Damn him for knowing fucking everything_. “In time, you can. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I always trust you.” It was true, his career was on the line almost daily because he had faith in Sherlock Holmes, believed that he could solve any murder, both cleverly and efficiently. Greg would be in big trouble with his higher ups if they found out just how many cases that he had Sherlock on, but he trusted the man to get the job done. “Always, sir.” He added the “sir” quickly at the end, not wanting to upset Sherlock, who simply smiled pleasantly.

Sherlock rose to stand infront of Greg but made no attempt to adjust his growing erection in his trousers. “I know, you do.” They stood watching each other for a few moments. Greg looked away, feeling rather exposed and emotionally raw under Sherlock’s scrutiny.

“Take John into my bedroom, put him face down on the bed with his legs spread wide and don’t remove the cuffs. Sometimes he likes to get feisty when he can’t get exactly what he wants. I do love a rebellious sub.” A fond smile made the words seem a little less twisted. “Do remove his pants, however. I think they will only get in the way from here on out. I’ll be there in a second.”

Greg hauled John up from the floor and walked him out in front of himself as he would do with any convict. Before shoving him onto the bed, he couldn’t resist a quick snog from the good doctor, something he was dying to do since he first saw him on a crime scene. He stepped around the shorter man and turned his face toward him with a palm to John’s hot, blushing cheek. He pulled him close, trying to lick his way into that sweet mouth. To say the least, he was severely disappointed that John wasn’t reciprocating. John didn’t give in and open his mouth.

When Greg pulled back to see what was wrong, he noticed that John wasn’t even looking at him. He was instead intensely focused on Sherlock leaning easily against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, looking lazy and casual. Both Greg and John knew that anything Sherlock did was not lazy and certainly _never_ casual.

“I didn’t--” John began but Sherlock cut him off with a raised hand.

“I know you didn’t. I have eyes, John, I could see what the Detective Inspector did when he thought you two were out of my sight. You will watch me punish him.” Sherlock pulled a chair away from the corner of his room.

A cold sweat washed over Greg as he let go of the cuffs and stepped back from John. Punished? Like slapped on the hand with a ruler in grade school punished? Or banished from the room punished? Or whipped with a cane punished?

“Boy, lie down.” John did, leaving Greg to stand alone.

“Sir, please, can you really blame me? I mean, look at him.” Greg waved in John’s direction, his voice getting louder in his defense. Sherlock only stood with a hand on the back of the chair, saying nothing and wearing his best poker face. “The man is bloody beautiful.” This time he was quieter. He couldn’t look at either of them, so Greg chose to focus on the chair, the intricate pattern in the upholstry on the seat.

“Of course, I cannot blame you for thinking that. I know he is gorgeous.” Sherlock looked to John’s face for a moment, smiling slightly. When he turned back to Greg, the smile was gone.

“I can’t, however, have a submissive that doesn’t follow my orders.” He let that sink in a moment while he made himself comfortable in the chair, facing himself toward the bed. Sherlock noted that John was smiling, _enjoying himself_ , but his eyes were closed peacefully, _comfortable_. He fought to keep his own smirk under control, watching Greg shiver in the middle of the room, naked and alone, waiting for his punishment.

Sherlock curled a finger at Greg, motioning for him to come, which he did so fast it was almost absurd. He stood in front of Sherlock, practically withering under his penetrating gaze. He felt his red silk pants being pulled down over his now half hard cock and when prompted, he lifted each foot to step out of them. For a moment he thought Sherlock was going to take him in hand from but he swiftly recalled that this was to be a punishment.

“Lie across my lap.” Sherlock demanded, the order was simple, but firm.

Greg struggled internally about being humiliated and reduced to being treated like a child. He knew what lying across Sherlock’s lap would mean. A spanking. The last time he was spanked was when he was 4 years old and that memory just barely danced on the edge of his mind. He had crossed the road without an adult. Luckily, he was ok and he had lived on a quiet street growing up but his father was furious and scared that he would do it again. Tears, he remembered the tears. He never crossed the street like that again.

It was awkward, trying to balance himself there on Sherlock’s boney thighs, his erection trapped uncomfortably between them, but he kept his mouth shut, taking the discomfort as part of the punishment.

“How many do you think he needs, Boy?” Greg silently prayed that John would be good to him and not name a number that would turn him into a crying, babbling mess.

“I think ten is appropriate, Sherlock.” Greg breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly under Sherlock’s hand rubbing on the small of his back.

John opened his eyes, there was no way he was going to miss this. He knew what Sherlock could do to a man with his punishments and John wanted to see the _exact_ moment when Greg realized that he liked being spanked like a naughty child who misbehaved.

“Ten, Gregory. Count them aloud for me. If you need to stop, say red.” Silence stretched out between them, the air hanging heavy with tension. “But of course, if we _do_ stop, you’ll have to leave.”

 _Damn him and his fucking ultimatum._ “Yes, sir, I’m sorry I disobeyed you and I need to be punished.” He hung his head and waited. If he wanted to please Sherlock, he needed to know his boundaries.

The first strike came fast after that, the sound of it rang loud in his ears, the sting of it drew the air from his lungs. It took a moment for him to breathe again.

“One.”

“Wonderful, Gregory. I wish you could see how good my handprint looks on your arse, it’s exquisite.”

The next slap was in exactly the same spot and Greg swore under his breathe, clenching his teeth.

“Two.” He gritted out.

Thankfully, the next was on the opposite cheek and Greg breathed easier, even if only slightly.

Three, four, five, six, each fall landing on alternating sides.

After the seventh strike, Greg heard John chuckling after a quiet moan escaped him. He counted this one out in a shaky, breathy voice, surprised that he had actually reacted that way; this was supposed to be a punishment after all.

“Eight,” he groaned. A found himself rocking his hips forward, searching for any sort of friction, not giving a fuck that his pre-come was smearing all over the leg of Sherlock’s trousers.

“Stop that.” Sherlock’s voice cut into his hazy, pleasure drunk mind. He stilled his hips despite all of his desire to just fucking toss one off. The remaining slaps came swiftly and after counting the tenth, he slumped into Sherlock’s lap, completely boneless.

Greg was guided to the bed and laid down gently. He moaned as the duvet cover rubbed on his red, raw arse, but he rolled to his side to face John to avoid any more stimulation. That is when he saw the grin, that knowing smile on John’s face.

“What are you smiling like that for?” He also couldn’t help noticing that John was positively squirming, grinding his pelvis down into the bed. He understood the need.

John’s grin widened and he groaned a little as the bed provided the prefect amount of pressure on his trapped cock. “I told you that he would take care of you.”


	5. Understanding the Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg starts to really understand what it means to be a submissive.

“I always take care of my subs, you know that Boy.” Sherlock’s deep voice reminded Greg of where he was. His head was still reeling from the endorphin high he received from being treated like a misbehaving child. The spanking was not really a punishment at all to him, he liked it, and Sherlock most likely knew that, judging by his cheeky grin and intense stare at the pair of them. John was still shamelessly trying to rub his erection into the mattress and Greg laid there trying to collect himself, breathing heavily.

“Stand up, Gregory.” He moved quickly to follow Sherlock’s orders and stood at the end of the bed with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes cast down. He was still trembling from the “punishment” and his arse was smarting. His knuckles brushed across the sore, reddened flesh making him gasp and his eyes water.

“Boy, stop rubbing yourself off on my bed.” John stopped and turned his face away from Sherlock.

No one spoke for minutes. Sherlock was sat in the chair looking relaxed but sharply concentrated on the other two in the room. John lay prone on the rumpled bed sheets, unmade after what Greg figured was a vigorous round of sex earlier on that day. As Greg stood waiting for his next order, he let his mind wander to imagine all of the things that John and Sherlock got up to in 221B.

He could picture them waking up next to each other, Sherlock still too sleepy to assert his Dominance over John, who would no doubt take advantage of his dampened state of cognition to make slow, sweet love to each other and not allow the boundaries to come up between them.

Greg also envisioned John tied up to a chair while Sherlock did torturous things to the man’s cock and exposed nipples. His daydreaming reminded him of the bizarre acts he had witnessed at the club; submissives chained to the bed, a Saint Andrew’s cross, or anything really, anything to restrict their movement, and it brought up a curious question which he voiced quietly.

“Sir?” Sherlock looked up into Greg’s eyes and nodded, indicating that he could speak. Greg swallowed hard before continuing, “Why isn’t John tied up? Isn’t that what this is about, about the submissive being powerless, unable to do anything?” It was less a question of logistics and more a curious inquiry to educate himself in the world of BDSM. He wanted to submit, not Dominate, but he was still ignorant about a lot of the things that went on in a relationship of this sort.

Sherlock regarded Greg momentarily, his eyes raking over the Detective Inspector’s tanned flesh hungrily. The look made Greg excited and nervous, thrilled to be appreciated physically, pleased to be visually appealing to Sherlock but he was cracking under the pressure of filling such a role.

“It is a power play, yes, but John won’t move from that spot. Boy, could you enlighten him as to why you will stay put as you are told.”

“Yes, Sherlock.” The voice came to Greg a bit muffled and quiet since John’s face was still away from him, pressed into a pillow. “I will stay where Sherlock puts me because he told me to stay.”

“Just like that?” Greg asked. “How do you fight the urge to touch yourself, or Sherlock?”

“He told me to stay. I want to stay, because he told me to. It would displease him if I were to move.”

Greg nodded slowly, beginning to understand. All three of them understood that John could get up and walk out of the flat at any moment and Sherlock would have no real power over his decision. “So you don’t need to be tied up?”

Sherlock interrupted before John could answer. “Don’t get me wrong, he does require restraint from time to time, and that too, he will tolerate, because I said so. He sometimes even enjoys it. Do you understand now?”

“Yeah, so John willingly gives up control to you and that’s what makes this work. If you had to force him, well, that would be a crime I guess.” Sherlock nodded, smiling widely. “And I’m to give up control to you as well?”

Sherlock nodded again, this time his eyes were gleaming. “You’ve been doing so well, Gregory, I thought that this would have all been clear to you, perhaps not.” Greg frowned. Sherlock always assumed that other people saw things as clearly as he did.

“Then I want to forfeit control, I want you to be my Dom, sir.” Greg shifted from foot to foot nervously, waiting for an answer felt like torture. It somehow left him feeling aroused.

“Well, you can’t always get what you want.” At this, Greg’s shoulders slumped a bit, disappointed and ready to leave when Sherlock asked him to. “But luckily, you’ve already been giving me control. This whole time, you’ve naturally deferred to my commands. It comes as second nature to you and now you understand it, it’s not about forcing you to do anything.”

“Yes, sir.” And he did understand. Finally, he knew what this need to submit was all about; the trust in another human being to do with you as they pleased, the strange weightlessness of being totally out of control, the rush.

Sherlock was smirking now, looking downright devilish. “Remove his pants.” He sat back and spread his thighs, one hand resting lightly over the bulge in his trousers.

Greg was nervous and his heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest. He got a tiny taste of John Watson earlier, and if he was good and followed Sherlock’s every order, he may even get another go at it. His shaking hands reached out for the waistband of John’s black underwear and pulled them down over the globes of his arse. John lifted his hips to allow the fabric to slip down over his erection, leaving him completely naked.

“Jesus, John, what…” He was speechless as he gazed down at John’s ass so carefully lubed, stretched and plugged. John moaned knowing that he was on full display and rolled his hips making the plug shift inside him. Greg also moaned at the sight. It was vulgar, lewd and _so_ fucking hot that he thought he was going to lose it right then and there.

“I like to keep him prepared when we go out. It has proven to be quite useful for a quick fuck when the desire arises.” Sherlock said nonchalantly. 

“You fuck him in public, sir?” He knew that it was a risky question, one with a little bit too much lip, but if Sherlock noticed, he pretended not to for Greg’s sake.

“Of course. When you remove the plug, you’ll find the evidence of our last session at the club stuffed up that delicious hole. He loves to feel me inside him all day long, don’t you Boy?”

“Yes, Sherlock.” John sounded desperate and wrecked already, nearly falling apart in anticipation of being touched by Greg. He knew what Sherlock was up to; the man intended to sit back and order Greg to touch him, kiss him, and fuck him silly. Each tiny little step would be orchestrated for them and Sherlock was the conductor.

“Remove the plug.” John hiked his hips upwards, still being in handcuffs, he was leaning mostly on his head and shoulders but he wanted to allow better access for Greg. When Greg pulled the plug out with a soft sucking pop, he could not hold back the throaty whine that escaped him. It wasn’t a big plug but any means, but it was just wide enough to keep John open and ready. The ring of muscles pulsed, trying to tighten to their normal state but he gaped none the less. A mixture of semen and lube dripped from John onto the soft cotton sheets. Greg felt like he was in a dream, his head was fuzzy and his cock was twitching interestedly, begging for attention.

Sherlock rose from the chair to stand behind Greg, leaning his chin on his left shoulder and breathing hot air into his ear. “He’s a perfect little cum slut, isn’t he?” Greg shivered involuntarily. “He begs for me to cum inside him, deep into that perfect, hot arse.” _Fuck._ “I’m sure that we could get him to beg for _your_ cum just the same.”

“Please, sir.” Greg wanted that so badly that it hurt. He wanted to be inside John, thrusting deep into him, wet with Sherlock’s own release. He felt another pulse pass through his groin and the accompanying wetness drip onto his leg. He was literally dripping wet for this. Greg was just as much of a cum slut as John was and he felt as if he would also be begging for it by the time the night was through.

“You may touch yourself,” Sherlock stated dismissively while digging through the top drawer of his dresser. “Make sure you are especially hard for this.”

“Thank you, sir.” Not being one to wait around for a second invitation, Greg took himself in hand, giving generous strokes to his cock, bringing him to absolute hardness. His eyes narrowed lazily while he stared down at John, beautiful John, using the sight before him to fuel many fantasies. His head dropped back and his eyes closed when he imagined what it would be like to sink to John’s body, the tight, wet heat gripping him as he moved.

He felt Sherlock slip something over his length, roughly pushing his hands away. It took him a few moments to realize that the tightness hugging his cock was a silicone cock ring which surrounded his erection completely at the base and was also slung around behind his balls, drawing them up tight. Greg looked up at Sherlock in surprise, eyes wide.

“We can’t have you coming too early now, can we?” Sherlock was grinning, _grinning_ , as he flopped back down in the chair.

“No, sir.” Greg silently cursed the detective but knew it was actually for the best. He didn’t want this to be over too quickly and he was even beginning to enjoy the pressure the ring kept on him.

“Gregory, John is leaking out all over my bed. Please clean him up,” Sherlock paused dramatically, palming himself through his trousers. “With your tongue.”

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments=Love
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> More chapters=SHAMELESS SMUT!
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> I love you all, thank you for reading, subscribing and leaving comments and kudos. 
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> You 


	6. Breaking Gregory Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes his orders from Sherlock obediently.

Greg had never done this to anyone before and the moment his tongue grazed over John’s obscenely open hole, he was floored by how responsive the man was. He pulled back, allowing himself a small smile, oh, he was going to enjoy this. The one thing he always took pleasure in, no matter who he was with, was turning them into a mumbling, moaning, writhing mess. John would be easy to please.

Sherlock seemed to know exactly what he was thinking if the smirk on his face was anything to go by, but Greg could tell he was getting impatient.

“Do I have to tell you again, Detective Inspector?” Greg's whole body shivered and he shook his head profusely, diving in again to lick John clean.

He spread him open with his palms and lapped at a generous drip of Sherlock that had begun its decent along John’s perineum. It tasted bitter and musky, not at all as disgusting as one might think, John was clean, incredibly so.

Greg wondered if that was part of their Dom/sub relationship, preparing John. It was totally conceivable to imagine Sherlock administering warm water enemas to John, who would have to just obey and accept it. He supposed that it could have been worse, but for now he was thankful for it, whatever it was, as his tongue delved deep into John. He wriggled his tongue, probing for more of Sherlock’s cum, causing John to jerk his hips forward sharply and then push back into him, melting into Greg mouth.

For all the movement that was going on, John was silent, which was a slight disappointment. He had hoped to hear moaning and begging, proof of the work of his talented tongue, but he figured it again had to do with the Dom/sub dynamic. John would only make noise if Sherlock told him to. Maybe he could break John?

At that thought, he doubled his efforts, running the tip of his tongue around the rim of John’s anus, licking and sucking gently, making it flutter in attempt to close in on him, which in turn squeezed more ejaculate out. It dribbled down Greg’s chin and he shamelessly licked at his lips to clean it up. He felt as if he could do this for hours if it meant he could enjoy John's reactions the whole time.

“Is he all cleaned up now?” Sherlock asked, his voice a harsh sounding growl, tearing Greg’s attention away from his task. He didn’t dare look over at him, however, just in case he might lose it when he saw just how aroused Sherlock was watching him do things to John, his John.

“Yes, sir.”

“And my sheets?”

Greg’s eyes flicked down to the wet spot directly under John's hips. “No, sir.”

“Get to it then.”

He scooted backwards, allowing him space to bend over and lick at the small puddle of Sherlock’s cum on the bed sheets. The rumpled cloth brushed his nose as he lapped at it, it smelled of Sherlock, and John. The combined taste and smell of them both was almost too much, too rich. He silently thanked SHerlock for placing the cock ring on him, knowing that without it, he might have already come. 

And, God, did he ever feel like a dog licking food scraps off of the floor? He felt debased, put down, humiliated, and at the same time, he’s never been more turned on. _What the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

“That’s enough." Greg stopped lapping at the bed and sat up straight. "Boy, lie on your back.” Obediently, John flipped over, awkwardly lying on his arms still bound in the handcuffs, and Greg finally got an eyeful of him; the flat plane of his stomach ending in light brown, almost blonde hair at the base of a cock so perfect that Greg whimpered at the sight. Liking very much what he saw, he grinned at John briefly before schooling his features into a study of control. He didn’t want to seem too desperate, although everyone in the room could see right through the façade.

Sherlock was brutal in the way he made the two of them wait for his next order. They stared at each other longingly, wanting to touch and taste, while their Dom decided what was to come next. Would he want Greg to suck John? To fuck him? To wank over him? His mind filled with the endless possibilities in the long seconds that passed, and against his best efforts to remain still, his hands started fidgeting in his lap.

“Boy, I know you love sucking cock.” John nodded enthusiastically.  “Would like to suck off Detective Inspector Lestrade?” Sherlock had unzipped his trousers to stroke his cock lightly, clearly getting off on being in control and giving himself just enough stimulation to remain rock hard while he constructed the scene.

John’s eyes slowly wandered down from Greg’s face. He could feel eyes on his cock, and it twitched, happily enjoying the attention. When John raised his gaze to again look into Greg’s wide, desperate, brown eyes, his smile was showing in the twinkle of his own blue ones. “Yes, Sherlock. I’d like that very much.”

 _Fuck, yes, please. How the hell is he so calm right now?_ Four years is much too long a hiatus for oral sex and Greg was metaphorically chomping at the bit, his right hand was getting boring and his left was no better. Desperate for something new in the sexual frontier, he had tried that, people said that your non-dominant hand felt different, but it was just as plain and regular as his right.

“Look at me, Gregory.” He did look and he thought he would never look away again. Sherlock’s face was flush and he could see the beginnings of sweat accumulating on his brow. Even still fully clothed, the man simply exuded sex, he was made for it, demanding all of the attention in the room when he spoke. Attention was easily given, as Greg could not tear his eyes off yet another beautiful cock. _God, I must be dreaming, things like this don’t happen to people like me._

“Focus!” His head snapped up to attention and Sherlock was grinning, the damn cock tease. “I just want you to know this before you start; my John has absolutely no gag reflex whatsoever.”

Greg's mouth hung open in shock. He glanced over at John who was also grinning, and _damn_ the pair of them, they had to know how sexy they were together and he cursed them for exploiting it, much to Greg’s despair. He managed a small, quiet, “Oh?”

“Yes and his throat can take a good and thorough fucking.” Each word came out in a staccato fashion for emphasis, each point dripping with sensuality. “I want to see you straddle his face and fuck that pretty little head into the mattress.”

Greg could only nod his head, the rush of hearing his next task had left his whole body tingling, his mind seemed to be experiencing an "out-of-body" episode, and his legs were feeling a bit heavy and sluggish. Never the less, he made his way up to John’s head, careful not to accidently kneel on him and he placed his knees on either side of the man’s face. The sight of John looking so eager to take him in his mouth was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. In this position, Greg could force his entire length into John’s mouth and the bed beneath them would barely give him a chance to escape. John knew this and still looked excited.

“Go on, Boy, show him how talented you are and how lucky he is that I am sharing you.”

Without any more preamble, John licked carefully at Greg's slit, which was steadily dripping precum, and hummed, running his tongue along his lips, looking sinfully seductive. Greg held his breath as John took his sensitive glans draped in foreskin into his mouth and sucked hard, effectively pulling the skin down over the head. He let go of his breath in one shattered exhale when John so readily stuck his tongue deep into the folds of his foreskin, tonguing curiously and sucking at it gently, all the while never looking away from Greg’s face. _God, it’s like he is fucking my dick with his tongue, sweet Jesus, I didn’t even know this was a thing._

Bracing himself on the headboard, Greg slowly pushed down into John’s mouth, forcing him to stop that torturous licking and suck him properly. When he felt himself hit the back of John’s throat, he groaned loudly which quickly turned into a whimper as muscles contracted around him, squeezing him unbearably hard.

“Jesus, John. I had no idea you could do that.” He was amazed, the man under him barely looked concerned for himself, he actually looked comfortable and very much aroused, the desire gleaming in his eyes as he enjoyed every little reaction that he extracted from Greg.

Greg pulled out of John’s mouth gently and slid forward again, relishing in the way John’s wet lips formed a tight seal around him, not wanting to let him go. This was how Greg fucked his mouth for a few minutes, enjoying the slow, sweet slide of him and hoping each time that he pulled away that John would trace the head of his cock with his brilliant tongue. It was only every three or four thrusts that John indulged him in laving attention to the most sensitive part of him. Greg figured that if John could smirk while sucking cock, he was doing it now. _Cheeky bastard_.

“Now that you can appreciate how lovely his mouth is, I want you to stop faffing about and fuck his face, Gregory, and fuck it hard.” A glance at Sherlock told him that the detective had kicked off his shoes, removed his trousers and pants, and was now furiously wanking over what Greg believed to be Sherlock’s ultimate fantasy, one that he was now playing a major part in. Sherlock voice’s grated through his throat, rough and hoarse, “I don’t want you to come yet, so pull away when you feel close.”

“Yes, sir.” _Bloody hell, this is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done._ Feeling close to the edge already, Greg was nervous about fucking John’s mouth with abandon. Any regular man would not last more than a minute under such vigorous conditions, and he was already keyed up. He figured that it was probably best for John in the long run if he had to pull away sooner, the poor man’s throat would be raw in the morning.

“Don’t come, Gregory.” Sherlock warned him again.

“I won’t, sir.” Saying it out loud didn’t make him any more certain that he would last longer, but when would someone ever ask him to fuck their partner’s mouth while they watched again in his life? Probably never, and with one last glance down at John, who was looking quite impatient, he thrust into his mouth hard and fast.

John had some difficulty keeping a perfect suction on Greg due to the faster pace but the tightening in his throat as he dipped down deep was enough to make up for it. He kept his eyes shut tight. Seeing his cock push into John wouldn’t help matters, it would only bring him to his peak faster. He couldn’t block out the noises however; the wet, squishing sounds and occasional gasps that floated up to his ears, not to mention the quiet grunts and groans from Sherlock in the chair watching them. It was overwhelming.

Greg barely lasted twenty seconds of pounding into John’s mouth before he had to pull away. He swung a leg back over John’s body and collapsed back to lie on the bed next to him, desperately gripping the base of his erection, willing himself not to come. If he did so without Sherlock’s permission, the punishment might not actually be as enjoyable as the last time.

When the threat of orgasm passed, he sagged into the mattress and whined petulently, Sherlock and John were definitely going to be the death of him. He covered his face with his hands and focused on bringing his breathing under control. 

He didn’t know exactly what he had been looking for when he went to the club that night, but this arrangement definitely failed to cross his mind. He’s not surprised to know that John and Sherlock are, in fact, a couple, everyone already thinks they are. The dynamic between them also doesn’t surprise him, Sherlock naturally demands attention, it is no wonder that he takes control of every situation he’s involved in. Greg's whole world has been turned upside down by these two in the matter of an hour or so. 

There must have been some silent communication between them while he wasn't looking because he heard the clinking of handcuffs being unlocked and the bed shifted beside him. Peeking out from under his hands, Greg moaned at the sight of Sherlock passionately kissing John, a new rush of arousal stirred in his groin. _Damn it._  One large hand gripped the leather collar at John's throat, and the other was stoking his length, which caused him to sigh gratefully, thankful for finally getting some attention to his leaking member after all that.

It was the first overtly sexual thing he’d seen the pair do all night, and it really wasn't helping his erection go away. Greg whined again, thinking that he had been quiet, but both of them stopped kissing and looked over to him laid out on the bed, eyes dark with lust. Sherlock whispered something in John’s ear then and the answering grin that spread across John’s face was devilish. They were up to something, definitely. He was fucked.

“Yes, Sherlock.” John replied, his voice low and raw, and he moved toward Greg, crawling in a truly predatory fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more chapters to go. :)


	7. You'll Get Your Own Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex continues...

He barely had a moment to collect himself before John’s mouth descended on him. It was a different angle, a different pressure, and most of all, Greg was no longer in control of how deep he was fucking John’s throat. A wave of pleasure rolled through him causing his eyes to roll back when the mouth around him vibrated. It took him a moment, in his lust hazed mind, to figure out that John was moaning.

Cracking an eye open, he saw Sherlock kneeling behind John, one hand splayed across his lower back, and the other, busy thrusting fingers into his wet and ready hole. His attention was not on what he was doing to John, however. He was staring directly at Greg, into him it seemed, cataloguing his every reaction.

Sherlock’s mouth quirked into a conspiratorial grin when something he did to John earned him a groan, long and deep, which caused Greg’s hips to thrust up, seeking more of that sweet thrum.

“Jesus… ah, fuck!” Greg was trying desperately to fuck John’s face like he had before but his position wouldn’t allow that kind of leverage. John had a firm hold on his hips, putting all his weight forward on them. Knowing perfectly well what he was doing to him, John pulled off of Greg’s cock very, very slowly, giving him a sultry look from beneath his blond lashes. “So good.” He panted, canting his pelvis upwards.

Behind John, Sherlock quickly shucked out of his shirt and bent to place a kiss at the base of John’s spine. That very moment, Greg was victim to two of the most salacious stares. It paralyzed him. It took his breath away knowing that they were looking at _him_ in such a way. Both of them looked devious and dirty, their grins creasing their eyes in a way other smiles do not. _God, I’m really in for it. Just enjoy it, Greg. It will probably never happen again._ He mentally shrugged off his cock blocking sub-conscience that was currently trying to ruin the moment.

When Sherlock finally thrust in his lover, everyone moaned, especially John, who promptly forgot about the cock in front of him to arch his back into it. Greg couldn’t have cared any less. He was enjoying the complete ecstasy written across John’s features, mouth open and eyes shut, the man looked to be enjoying it, completely relaxed and lost in the sensations of it.

His gazed rose from John’s face to Sherlock’s, and it was more than a little disconcerting to see those pale eyes still boring into him. Greg could see where Sherlock fingertips were leaving indents in John’s hips that would no doubt be dark, purple bruises in the morning. Most of all, he admired the flex of Sherlock abdominal muscles as he fucked John at a leisurely yet satisfying pace. There was barely any coverage of fat and the tissue rippled smoothly underneath his pale ivory skin.

Feeling the aching need to bring himself to orgasm, he reached down to stroke his hard cock. He whimpered when the force of Sherlock’s next thrust shoved John forward and he accidently painted the man’s chin with beads of precum as his face brushed his leaking tip.

“Gregory,” Sherlock cautioned just as he got his hand around himself. He looked up at the detective with bewildered eyes but obeyed, effectively tucking his hands under his head to quell the urge to touch.

John shivered bodily as Sherlock ran his hands up his spine, humming encouragement for his wantonness. One arm wrapped possessively around John’s middle, pulling him back with each thrust, and the other curled forward with a hand snugly around his throat. Pulling his face around, Sherlock leaned in close to whisper breathily into John’s gasping mouth.

“Boy, it looks like the Detective Inspector needs some attention.” Greg groaned to show his agreement, glad that Sherlock finally acknowledged his want. “Suck his cock while I pound your sweet little arse. I want him to feel me fucking you as you suck him. Make him come for me.” _Oh, fuck yes!_

John answered with a “Yes, Sherlock”, and was rewarded with a quick, sloppy kiss for his obedience before being pushed back down into Greg’s lap.

With John sucking him off desperately to point of being frantic, and the sight of Sherlock roughly taking his lover from behind, Greg knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer. The tension in his lower abdomen was building, coiling tighter and tighter, bringing him closer to completion. Every time John sank his mouth down his shaft, he could feel his cock pressing deep into his throat. Every time that John pulled up, sucking him like a lolly, his tip received a reverent lick. Greg was impressed with John’s cock sucking abilities, still able to perform while being thoroughly fucked.

Despite his best efforts to stave off his orgasm, his vision started to go hazy on the edges and he drew his breath in sharper and faster now. He could hear himself panting loudly and moaning amongst the other sounds of sex in the room. The sound of his own pleasure seemed dampened down, a sort of out-of-body feeling, and before he knew it, the coil in his belly snapped tight and he was coming hard down John’s throat. He tried to thrust his hips up with his erratic spasms but found that John was already taking as much of him as he physically could. Sherlock had leaned forward and pushed John’s head firmly down onto his cock, ensuring he would swallow every last bit.

“Jesus, bloody fuckin' hell,” he cursed, little shocks of pleasure continued to rock him as Sherlock went on fucking John hard, fast, and powerful.

With a grip in John’s short hair, Sherlock pulled his head up from Greg’s softening cock, revealing him to be gasping for air, strings of cum and saliva dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Greg could only watch, his own body shutting down after being _so_ turned on for _so_ long and experiencing such an intense orgasm. He felt satiated but was still damn interested in what was still going on.

He watched as sweat dripped in tiny rivulets down Sherlock’s temple, causing his crazy curls to stick to his skin. John was looking equally sweaty, but also debauched and completely used.

Sherlock yanked sharply on John’s collar, pulling his body upright, making him arch his back to keep his body open to be fucked. Greg could see where the collar was putting pressure on his windpipe, cutting off his air supply as Sherlock used it as if it were a set of reins. Greg touched a trembling hand to his own collar wondering if he would be able to endure the abuse that John was taking right now.

 _Abuse_. That was a fairly loose term to describe the current scene. John was enjoying it too much.

Infact, John was coming, his seed painting the sheets and Greg’s thighs in sporadic, wild patterns. When his body slumped, Sherlock released his hold on the collar allowing him to fall forward into Greg’s lap again. His breath was wheezing and he concentrated on taking slow deep breaths despite his recent oxygen deprivation, his body pitching forward as Sherlock’s hips slammed into his arse.

Greg ran his hand though John’s sweat damp hair, murmuring encouragements, telling him he was such a good boy. After completely losing himself fucking John with sharp, quick snaps of his pelvis, Sherlock finally pushed deep into him in one final thrust, emptying himself with a loud groan and full body shudder.

John whined as Sherlock abruptly pulled out of him, nimbly hopping off the bed to retrieve a warm, wet flannel. He tended to John first, guiding him to lie back against the pillows and wiping his face clean and then washing the rest of him. They were all sweaty and covered in cum, but so were the sheets. They could always shower in the morning. It being 3 AM and all of them exhausted, there was no time or energy for showering. Greg was lucky if he could move at all, he really hoped that John and Sherlock didn’t want him to leave now that they were finished.

Before moving on to wipe Gregory he placed a soft, sweet, closed mouth kiss to John’s swollen lips. John made a small sound of protest in the back of his throat when Sherlock moved away.

Greg’s skin felt hypersensitive as the warm cloth dragged up and down his thighs and over his soft prick. Sherlock bent down to kiss him as well before prodding him along to lie on the bed properly next to John. A few quick swipes to clean the mess of cum on the sheets and Sherlock disappeared into the loo again.

As he settled his head down on the pillow, he could already feel John curling against his side. His arm was draped over his chest and his hand clutched possessively at his side, making him feel warm and wanted.

“Thank you, sir.” Greg poured all of his emotions into expressing his gratitude, hoping that it would spur the detective to ask him to play again, because damn it, he needed this. John mumbled something indecipherable, his warm breath and lips caressing the cooling skin of his chest.

Sherlock knelt on the bed on the other side of John and leaned over him to kiss Greg. It was a deep, searching, passionate kiss that would have surely woken his sex drive all over again if they didn’t just participate in the bloody sex Olympics right here in Sherlock’s bed. Long pale fingers reached to remove the leather collar from his neck.

“You’re welcome, Gregory. I’ll get you your own collar for next time.”

Sherlock removed John's as well and he laid himself behind John, snuggling close and burying his nose in his neck. And that seemed to be the end of the negotiations. There would be a next time, and he wasn’t being booted out of the flat. His heart swelled at the implication of having his own collar from Sherlock, and he tried not to get too excited. He risked a peek down at John’s golden head to see him fast asleep, snoring softly, and placed a kiss to the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, mainly fluff! :) Any requests?
> 
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> I like to share my fan art, fanfiction, and cosplay there. :)


	8. I Want To Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Greg woke up tangled in the bed sheets and completely alone. He pushed aside his momentary panic knowing that Sherlock and John lived here and he was in _their_ flat after all, if anyone was leaving, it would be him. 

His muscles quivered as he reached up to the head board and stretched that first good stretch of the morning, moaning happily. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was half eight and he was extremely grateful that he had the day off, barring any emergencies that may require his immediate attention. It had been ages since he had a proper lie in, and a proper shag, and he enjoyed the bed for another thirty minutes until his bladder rudely reminded him that it was time to get up.

He found his clothes neatly folded on the dresser. That must have been John. He shimmied into his pants and ducked into the loo with the rest of stuff. A good long piss and a few splashes of cold water to his face revived him greatly. He took his time donning the rest of his clothes, unsure of what to say to Sherlock and John. Greg hated awkward mornings like this. What the hell do you say? “Hey, thanks for letting my fuck your amazingly hot boyfriend. Cheers for the shag. “

He stared at his reflection in the mirror leaning on the edge of the sink while running through the things he would say when he left the safe boundaries of the bathroom. “You’re a fucking idiot, Lestrade.” He whispered to himself. He wondered if he could slip out into the hallway and down the stairs without being seen. It was bad enough he would have to see them at crime scenes on the regular without having to see them _here_ , right after they did  _that_.

Greg quietly opened the door and tiptoed to the end of the hall but stopped when he saw Sherlock and John on the couch. Sherlock sat at one end, balancing what Greg figured was John’s laptop on the armrest. He was typing alarmingly fast for only using one hand, the other wrapped around John’s shoulders as the man snuggled in close, looking comfortable and happy.

_Damn this old creaky flat!_ He cursed the squeaky floor as it gave away his presence just as he was about to step out.  He froze and John blinked at him sleepily for a few moments before untangling himself from Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock took no notice of either Greg or John other than he was aware he now had two hands to type.

Greg was embarrassed by the way John pretended to not see that he was just about to duck out on them. Instead of being upset, or suggesting he stay, or even ask why he was thinking of leaving, he simply came right up to him and placed a quick kiss to his lips and continued on into the kitchen, leaving him bewildered and confused.

“Tea?” John called.

Looking back at Sherlock, who still ignored him, he shrugged. _Why not? This doesn't have to be awkward._  “Sure.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze to Greg standing in the doorway without actually turning his head.

“I mean, yes, John. Thank you.” Greg corrected, finding his voice rather shaky. Sherlock seemed satisfied with the amendment and promptly went back to ignoring him. He decided that he would escape to the kitchen to help John, not that making tea was particularly difficult, but he wasn't sure if he could be subject to another one of Sherlock’s glares within the next twenty four hours.

“Can I help?”

John gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing what a dick Sherlock could be. “No, thank you. I can manage.” Then he winked, and Greg’s stomach did a little flip.

While he watched John pour the water and brave the fridge for the milk, he leaned against the kitchen table, thinking, dying to know what was going to happen next.

John made it easy. Greg took the proffered mug and smiled before taking a cautious sip. “Thank you,” he said, for more than just the tea.

“It’s nothing.” John, ignoring his own cup, stepped closer, putting himself between Greg’s legs and angling his face up to press another gentle kiss his mouth. This time he was more prepared to respond and reciprocated eagerly, abandoning his cuppa on the table to pull John closer. Although they were both into it, the kiss never progressed further than a lazy snog.

“God, you taste good.” Greg declared after a few moments. John hummed against his neck and answered him with tiny kisses to his flushed skin.

With a glance to the living room, he tightened his hold on John, hugging him close. “John?” The doctor looked up at him with half lidded eyes. “What happens now?”

John shrugged and burrowed his nose into Greg’s neck. “You stay. Or you go. I’d like you to stay. If you can, I mean.”

Oh, and did he ever want to stay. He wanted to stay forever. It may have been the most random chance meeting he’d ever had, despite the fact that he already knew Sherlock and John quite well. He just never expected to see them _there_.

“What about Sherlock?”

John rolled his eyes dramatically, peeking back into the sitting room. “He wants that too. You know him, he isn't great with sentiment.”

If anyone were to ask him what he thought of Sherlock’s display of sentiment before last night, he would have told them that Sherlock simply doesn't _do_ that. Changing all of Greg’s preconceived notions of Sherlock’s ability to show emotion, the man had shown a great amount of sentiment the entire night, particularly as he cared for John and Greg afterwards.

“He seemed to be sentimental enough last night.”

“It comes easily to him after a scene,” John explained. “He is plenty caring outside of the bedroom too, you know, but often times the transition from science to emotion in that great big head of his takes some time.” John wriggled up against Greg suggestively. “And some persuading.” Greg couldn't help but grin at how much a tart John was, but he loved it. He really did.

“I want to stay.”

“Good.” Sherlock nearly startled him out of his wits. Greg had assumed that Sherlock was still grossly involved with whatever was on his laptop, but he was quickly realising that he was just trying to look busy, and let John handle the “sentiment”.

Stepping up next to the pair leaning against the table, Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around the back of John’s neck to drag him in for a deep, slow kiss. Greg whimpered when John’s grip on his shirt tightened as the two kissed right in front of him.  

Sherlock drifted seamlessly from John’s lips to Greg’s to devour his new submissive’s mouth with a fervor that left the detective moaning. The mouth soon began to wander; Greg figured that Sherlock occasionally got bored of just kissing. His jaw was peppered with kisses and he felt skin being pulled between gentle teeth. John was working the other side of his neck with kisses, licks and nips, the two of them keeping him squirming against the kitchen table, writhing for more.

Admiring a particularly red mark he had made, Sherlock smiled at Greg fondly, running his fingernail down the column of this neck and over the bite. For a moment, John and Sherlock met eyes, seemingly communicating wordlessly again. Greg took the opportunity to catch his breath and tried to stop looking so damn desperate.

“I believe I promised you your own collar.” The statement was augmented by Sherlock firmly wrapping his slim hand around the front of his throat. Pale white flesh clashed dramatically against Greg’s tanned skin. “With dark complexion like this, I think that white leather would look ravishing in contrast, something with a dark metal buckle. It would also match your stunning smile.” Sherlock dragged his thumb along Greg’s lower lip, pulling down slightly to catch sight of those pearly whites. John was grinning and Greg could only nod dumbly, wholeheartedly accepting anything and everything John and Sherlock had to offer him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! I really hope that you enjoyed it. I know I loved writing it. It got fluffy in the end, but I love me some fluff. You can't have play without fluff. Fluff completes me.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr [HERE.](http://konfessor2u.tumblr.com/) I promise "Penis Fridays" and penises probably on other days too. ;) I always have some NSFW posts, but also share my thoughts, other hobbies and such. Blah blah. Shameless plug over.
> 
> Cheers and be well! <3

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://konfessor2u.tumblr.com/)


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